


a picture's worth a thousand words

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, photoshoot gone very very right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: When the photographer comes into the Tower, he introduces himself with this frantic, European accent, “Stevie, baby! I’m so glad to be here! Come give me a hug, darling!” And well, that really should’ve been Steve’s first clue that this was not going to be what he thought he had signed up for.





	a picture's worth a thousand words

When the photographer comes into the Tower, he introduces himself with this frantic, European accent, “Stevie, baby! I’m so glad to be here! Come give me a hug, darling!” Well, that really should’ve been Steve’s first clue that this was not going to be what he signed up for.

A popular magazine had approached Pepper about doing an in-depth profile about the person beneath the cowl, the name beyond the Captain America moniker, and Steve had been thrilled to agree to it. He thought it’d be great to get his real story out there in his own words, and Pepper and Maria both agreed that it’d be fantastic PR for both the Avengers and Steve himself.

The interview process was largely pleasant. There were a few uncomfortable questions about Bucky, and some implications about a relationship beyond childhood friends and wartime buddies that made Steve scrunch his nose at the thought of, but it was otherwise agreeable enough. Steve got along well with the journalist, and the whole one-on-one interview process took no longer than one few hour session. 

The problem for Steve arises when he’s informed a photo shoot would be necessary for the spread. He hadn’t realized _pictures_ would be involved.

The thing is, Steve knows he’s photogenic with this new body of his. Sometimes even he can’t believe how good looking he is now. But he grew up tiny with these bones that protruded almost unnaturally from his thin flesh and the palest skin anybody’d ever seen. He’d never quite acclimated to getting pictures taken of himself. But if it was for the sake of getting his words out there, Steve figures he could suffer through it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Steve says anyway, because since when has he known how to say no to anybody, huh?

The photographer is a short, squat man with long, knotty hair and round sunglasses that really serve little function beyond their inert darkly tinted, brass-framed nature. He’s wearing about six different layers of jackets and scarves and various collars with a long, fashionable scarf tied around his neck to top it all. Steve, who has unnaturally warm blood and always seems to be overheating, can’t even fathom how hot the jumpy little man must be. 

“You know my name is Steven as well?” The photographer says as he unspools the magenta scarf from around his neck. The thing never seems to end, just keeps on unspooling, and Steve almost offers his help he doesn’t know what to do. The photographer finally gets it off, tossing it onto a chair with absolute ease, and Steve actually feels relieved, “Are you ready for a fantastic afternoon?”

Steve smiles, “I think so, yes.” Photographer Steven looks all too pleased. 

“Is this okay?” Steve asks quietly, pulling at his tee shirt as he glances down at the casual state of his (tailored, thanks to Tony) jeans, “I’m not underdressed for a photoshoot?”

Steven’s eyes rake over Steve as if he’s naked and it’s kind of the worst feeling in the world for Steve, who briefly feels self conscious about the way his shirt tugs noticeably on his muscles, practically bursting- it was hard to find shirts that fit okay, but then the photographer nods, apparently satisfied, “You look perfect, baby. Don’t fret,” And then he wonders off to deal with a set of expensive looking cameras. 

Steve watches with curious eyes as Steven directs his assistants, setting up ginormous lights and white sheets that act as backgrounds. It’s a much larger production than Steve had anticipated and he tries to make himself small in the bustle of it. 

While they’re setting up, various housemates filter in and out. Clint comes in and sees the way Steve’s eyes are wide and anxious as the photographer takes his test shots, and he backs right out again with a barking laugh. Bruce comes in and tries to offer Steve a cup of tea, but Steven ends up demanding iced lemon water for the whole crew. Pepper comes in and profusely thanks the photographer for spending his time with them. Steve just tries to pretend like he isn’t there. 

By the time they’re all set up with their iced lemon waters and their lights and cameras all in the right place, Tony’s made his way into the room, leaning against the counter and observing the way Steve acts under this specific slice of limelight. 

Steven apparently knows Tony from some other shoot or an event of some sort because when Tony quietly settles with a drink near the kitchenette in the large communal living room, the photographer approaches him with widespread arms and presses twin kisses to the billionaire’s cheeks.

“Mi amore!” Steven chuckles, “You’ve come to watch me conduct my art!”

Tony laughs, as charismatic and at ease as always as he sips his drink, “Good to see you again, Steven. Mind if I sit in? Think it might make Steve over there a little more comfortable not be completely alone.”

“Oh, Tony, darling, you’re always so considerate! Yes, yes, yes, please! You know I love an audience!” 

Tony smiles wordlessly at Steven, moving his glass from one hand to the other, and god, Steve can’t fathom how easy it is for this man to just look so pretty. The whole photo shoot ordeal is so foreign to him, but Tony? Tony’s always camera ready, Steve envies it. 

For Steve’s sake, he doesn’t say much else. He knows where the attention’s supposed to be during this whole ordeal, and he does his best to melt into the background. 

Tony himself had just come back from a business meeting of some sort, wearing a bespoke, pinstriped suit that looks damn nice. The little red pocket square that sticks out of his right breast pocket compliments the vibrant tie tucked neatly under his jacket, all supplemented with his now-iconic orange-tinted sunglasses, and Steve would be lying if he said his eyes didn’t linger just a little bit on the passive billionaire in the corner. 

“Alright, Steven,” The photographer demands, “Let’s get you in front of the camera, baby. It’s picture time!”

He takes some candids, just some good-looking classic Steve Rogers casual pictures around the communal living room. It’s not too bad. Steve leans back in his favorite chair and pretends to read a book, feeling just about as ridiculous as a full grown man pretending to read a hardcover book as a troop of other grown men circle him like prey. Steve manages anyway. Then Steven smiles and ushers Cap toward the big platform they have set up and that’s when things get really bad.

Steve shuffles onto the big white sheet, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to come off as photogenic. Steven tsks dramatically.

“Ayayayaie, Stevie! No, no, no!” The photographer insists, “No way are we hiding that body from the world! Let’s get you shirtless!”

Steve can confidently say that he’s never blushed so hard in his life. 

The assistant’s don’t even bat an eye while Steve carefully pulls his shirt over his head. He feels exposed as Steven peers into his camera lens and make this pleased little mewl. It’s the worst. Steve doesn’t dare glance in the darkened corner that Tony had taken up with his drink because he thinks he might die in embarrassment.

Steve just about blocks out the entire experience from his mind, he’s so uncomfortable the entire time, but he does what the photographer asks, no matter how ridiculous he feels. 

Steve poses and stretches, and does whatever seemingly ludicrous pose Steven demands. At one point, his shirt is thrown at him and he’s told to “Hold it and look pretty.”

Steve has no idea what that means, so he does his best. He feels ridiculous. 

Tony’s in the back the whole time, sipping his drink, pretending to scroll through some work on his StarkPhone, but really he can’t take his eyes off of Steve’s photo shoot. The lack of restraint that Tony Stark has to Captain America when he’s standing over there looking like that is laughable. He’s still wearing a pair jeans- hell, Steve’s still got socks and shoes on- and he’s smiling all shyly, but god it’s like some kind of wet dream come to life. Tony’s so attracted to Steve it’s almost funny.

Not that Steve knows or anything.

God no. Because Tony stands in his corner and stays utterly quiet like any good friend while Steve stands under a collage of lights and feels like a complete idiot. 

They’re coming to the end of the shoot, Steven promising only a few more shots, darling, when Clint makes his way into the room again. Steve doesn’t even notice. He’s got this perpetual little blush thing going on- Tony swears he isn’t real. 

Clint sidles up to Tony as he enters the room, and damn him but he’s grinning before Tony even notices him. 

“What’re you up to, Barton?” Tony says, pouring his teammate a drink without prompting.

Clint shrugs, feigns offense as Steve makes some ineffectual protest of _are you sure this’ll look all right?_ behind them, “I could be asking you the same question, Stark.”

Because he’s Tony Stark, and he’s totally cool, Tony totally does not blush at all at the implications, “I know Steven,” He says defensively, “We’ve met for things. He took pictures for me when InStyle did that spread on me. Figured Steve would be more comfortable with a familiar face.”

“Mhmm,” Clint says, entirely unconvinced as he pointedly takes a long sip of his drink, “It has nothing to do with the very good-looking shirtless situation that’s happening with the star-spangled man with the good abs over there, does it?”

Tony tries to come off as offended, “Steve’s my friend, Clint!”

“Yeah,” Clint says, abandoning the half-empty drink on the counter, “Whatever you say, Stark. You have a good night now.”

Tony pretends like he isn’t bristling in the back for the rest of the shoot. 

When Steven declares, “Stevie, baby, we’re all done!” Steve all but runs out of the room. The photographer watches the way Steve flees and turns to look at Tony, this dastardly, oblivious grin on his face, “You’ve got a runner there, Tony darling, don’t ya? A good lookin’ runner, but at least you’ve got him, you know?”

Tony flees too. It’s a whole big thing. 

A few weeks later, the magazine comes out and Steve doesn’t even get an advanced copy before it hits the shelves- Tony bitches about that fact for a good fifteen minutes before Steve admits that he really couldn’t care less but he appreciates what Tony’s putting into it. The issue makes it way into the tower anyway.

Clint proudly brandishes the first copy, “Boys, I’ve come bearing gifts!” He hollers, voice echoing over JARVIS’s sound system, “Meet me in the living room if you want a good laugh.”

He has a copy for everybody. Steve doesn’t ever want to see it in his whole lifetime, but he glances at the cover anyway (he flinches instantly and pushes it away, it’s too weird). When the Avengers start to flick through it, when Nat starts making comments about the shirtless factor, Steve politely excuses himself and flees. 

He makes it all the way to the door before Clint catches him, appearing out of nowhere with a copy of the damn magazine in his hand, “Hey, Cap,” He says, all sly and clever and prideful, “Think you’re forgetting something.”

Before Steve can protest, a copy of the dreaded magazine is being shoved into his hands and there’s nothing he can do. Clint’s backing away with one of his grins, full of mischief, “Oh, and Cap? He says, “I earmarked a page for you to check out. Just so you know. If you feel like reading it. That’d be a good place to start. Think you might like what you see.”

Without much else, Clint slips back to the rest of the group, “ _Did you see the one with the pursed lips? Cap looks like a fish!_ ”

Steve absolutely does not intend to read the damn thing. He’s sure it’s written well, doesn’t doubt that the whole thing simultaneously draws him out to be this completely sensible hero/angel/average-guy, just like the journalist had intended, but it’s just… too weird to read his own life story. And the _pictures_. He has zero desire to see himself all on display for the rest of the world like that.

But then again, Steve Rogers had always been a curious guy, and when it’s nearing 2 am, his curiosity inevitably gets the best of him, and he flips the damn thing open. Just a peak, okay?

When he first flips the thing open to a random page, he opens up to a picture of himself posing like some silly-face statue and it makes him flinch just looking at it. He already hates himself for doing this. He quickly flips to the page that Clint had earmarked for him. 

It’s a particularly word-heavy two pages of the profile, only a few smaller photos dotting it. Most of them on this page are candids, actually, which is a relief to Steve. He scans through the article for what Clint had found particularly interesting. There’s nothing out of the ordinary: a couple comments about his early life, pre-serum, some descriptions of how his life has changed. Steve notes that it’s written well, but it’s nothing exactly earmark-worthy.

Then Steve examines the photos that outline the boxes of text and that’s when he sees it.

One of the pictures, placed strategically in the top right beside a paragraph about how his powers benefit the Avengers as a team, shows not only Steve but Tony, too. Steve doesn’t remember when the picture had been taken, Steven must’ve snuck it in without telling them, a true candid. Steve’s laughing at something Tony said, throwing his head back, oblivious to the world. It’d be nothing out of the ordinary to Steve: he knows perfectly well that he laughs like a golden retriever had mated with a hippopotamus, except for the look on Tony’s face. 

Tony looks, well there’s no better way to put it, he looks utterly besotted. He’s got this proud little smile on his face, almost smug if it weren’t for the glow in his eyes of just complete joy. 

Steve wonders why he’s never noticed that before. The light. 

Then he thinks about it and maybe… maybe he has noticed it.

He’s noticed the way Tony’s arm lingers sometimes after he tells a joke. The way he always tries to make enough of his midnight snacks to share with Steve if he thinks he’s awake. The way he gravitates toward Steve in a busy room. The way he makes Steve laugh or make the hard days full of doubt and out of place so much better. The way he devotes his afternoon to sitting quietly in a room with an insufferable photographer just because he thinks it’ll make him more comfortable. 

Steve realizes then… well, he realizes everything really, as he looks down at the picture, gold and seemingly ethereal light filtering in through Stark Tower’s panoramic windows and over the pair of them, and sees the way Tony looks at him, and wishes that maybe he would’ve noticed just a little bit earlier. And maybe he needs to talk to Tony. 

Though really, a picture’s worth a thousand words, isn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr and you can find me there as dammit-stark


End file.
